


Taking Care

by haku23



Category: Marvel Ultimates
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-13
Updated: 2013-02-13
Packaged: 2017-11-29 03:37:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,951
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/682296
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/haku23/pseuds/haku23
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve is injured. Tony uses less than honourable methods to keep him in bed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Taking Care

**Author's Note:**

> For a kink meme prompt as usual! 
> 
> "Comics or movies or any other verse! I just want to see hurt!Steve getting injured on a mission and being comforted and cared for by Tony. 
> 
> bonus for Tony giving convalescing and super-sulky/antsy/bored/bad-patient!Steve blow-jobs and handjobs and doing very many things~ to him to calm him down and/or distract him from pain and boredom etc."

It's 3am and Tony Stark had resigned himself, for once, to an early night in bed. He really is entirely warm, comfortable, and asleep in it in spite of how it lacks a certain...someone. It's during the time between a lovely dream about a blonde, brunette, and redhead and the beginnings of a nightmare about of all things, dying, that the phone rings loudly enough to wake him. He tries to sound grateful when he finally does answer it but it comes out a slurred mess after which he clears his throat and tries again.

 

“Tony Stark speaking.”

 

“Excellent, I hate to wake you Mr. Stark however there's been an accident.”

 

An accident can mean one of many things but the absence of a hard, muscly body next to him can only mean that it's an accident involving Steve. “It's always 'an accident', isn't it? Well, what has he done now?”

 

“It's uh...It's better you just came down.”

 

He spends all of three minutes getting ready-normally he would spend more time making himself presentable in case of paparazzi but it's 3am and Steve is in the hospital. Steve hasn't been in one of those since...well, since before he'd learned to enjoy eating rattlesnakes. Tony breezes into Jarvis' room and shakes him awake without bothering to explain anything-he's gotten used to it by now at least and has himself looking decent in under five minutes. They're lucky really that Steve hadn't gotten taken to somewhere more out of the way but Tony still has more than enough to drink half a bottle of whisky to himself in the backseat so that when they storm the gates-or rather stumble drunkenly in the front doors-he feels totally calm. Not worried at all, certainly not. Steve is a big boy, he's probably just cut his hand being all growly and angry at women showing their ankles. The first time they'd moved into the mansion he'd sliced himself open spectacularly when he'd seen some kids on TV that needed to be sent to Maury's boot camp for poorly behaved teens after all. It's plausible.

 

The receptionist is only too happy to point him in the direction of Steve's room when he tells her what beautiful eyes she has-they remind her of Natasha's it's terrible the effect that realization has on him-though it is of course her job to do so. He's a giver of compliments, he can hardly help himself.

 

Steve is on the fourth floor and when he approaches his room it takes him a moment to actually step past the doorway. Jarvis hangs back after far too many instances of walking in on things he probably hadn't wanted to while Tony strides to Steve's bedside. Of course Captain America would get a private room which is good-Tony would hate having to be unreasonable to get him out of a shared one. Well, perhaps only a little bit. The lights are low enough that he can't see much of what Steve's injury could possibly be but he counts at least three IV stands so they'd obviously found _some_ way of sedating him effectively even if it's something as crude as just pumping him full of as many drugs they could until he passed out.

 

He shoves his hands in his pockets, comes up empty. Of all days to leave his flask in his other jacket. Tony pulls up a chair-Steve must really be out because he doesn't wake up even when Tony does a hackjob of being quiet about dragging the chair across the room-and finds one of his hands amongst the white blankets. His head is turned to the other side which means he won't see Tony being utterly ridiculous about this entire situation. It's not as if he hasn't seen Steve hurt before so he really shouldn't be crying about it. God, he looks so odd amongst hospital equipment. Breakable in spite of how he's mostly unbreakable by human hands. The dimmed lights wash him out and though that's hardly a surprise it's still just as dreadful to look at so Tony drags his free hands over his face. He has to buck up, for god sakes. What good is crying doing him?

 

“Mr. Stark? I'm Cap's physician,” a male voice comes from the doorway and Tony drops the hand in his before getting to his feet and turning to face it.

 

The lights are terrible but they at least hide the tear tracks, “of course. You said he had an accident.”

 

“Right. You see...I can't officially discuss the details with you seeing as you're not listed as his medical proxy.”

 

“Naturally. What _can_ you discuss with me then? As his friend?” he glances back at Steve, scans him for visible injuries again. He looks sick, sure, but most people in hospitals do so it's hardly indicative of the severity of his injury.

 

The doctor clears his throat as if he can see right through the flimsy 'just friends' talk, “um. Well you're not even supposed to be up here, technically now that visiting hours are over. But he told me to 'call Stark' and I made the assumption that he meant you.”

 

“Right. I'll tell you what, Doctor, you let me stay and there will be a very large donation in it for you.”

 

“I can't-”

 

“Of course you can,” he fumbles out his chequebook and writes a ridiculous sum that he's not even certain he'll be able to pay without his investors screaming at him come Monday and signs it, “here.”

 

“Mr. Stark, there are rules...I-”

 

“I do worry about the poor man. All alone after that dreadful tsunami. I'm really all he has left and he does get so grumpy in hospitals,” Tony sighs for effect, “it would be our secret.”

 

He presses the cheque into the doctor's hand, “a very expensive one-the best kind.”

 

“Mr. Stark.”

 

“Stark.”

 

He tries sounding casual with a “oh, you're awake” but fails with how he's at his bedside near immediately, “how are you feeling, darling?”

 

“Fine.”

 

Steve is always fine. He's too much like Tony for Tony's liking in that respect however the grunt of pain when he moves isn't something he can hide, “okay.”

 

Okay is Steve speak for 'I could be better' Tony has learned. Okay most definitely does not mean 'okay' unless it's 'OK' in which case they're in the field and Steve is being delightfully vocal about things being fucked up.

 

“Of course. Now tell me what they woke me up at 3am for. You really can't stay out of trouble, can you?”

 

Steve grumbles unintelligibly, shifts again though he hisses like it hurts even to do that. Broken ribs then. Tony pats his hand as some manner of comfort-he's never gotten much of it himself and so he has no idea what to do-and asks him again what he'd hurt badly enough it warranted a trip to the hospital.

 

“Broke...” he huffs a breath out of his nose, crosses his arms over his chest, “broke my hip.”

 

A startled laugh falls out of Tony's lips before he can stop it and then another until he's howling with laughter from a cocktail of relief and genuine amusement because God, Steve really _is_ an old man.

 

“How?” he manages to choke out between breaths and there are tears rolling down his cheeks but he isn't sure what emotion they're associated with so he just lets them be, “how?”

 

“Shut up, Stark.”

 

He sucks in a huge breath, swallows his laughter, “don't be upset, Steve, it's hardly my fault you slipped on a patch of ice.”

 

Steve is quiet and that just makes him burst again because could he _be_ anymore stereotypical? Jan would have gotten a laugh out of it and Hawkeye will, he knows, now that he's mostly gotten over Laura.

 

“I could sue the city for you,” he chokes out a guffaw, “if you like.”

 

“The city has enough problems.”

 

“Oh don't pout, sweetheart, now you'll have something to talk else about when you visit your old people,” Tony takes a few deep breaths, controls himself because he probably sounds like a madman and Steve is glaring so hard that his stare alone could probably get him an assault with a deadly weapon charge.

 

“Should've called Monica.”

 

“Monica already has a son, she doesn't need a grandfather to look after as well.”

 

“If you-...If you like you can go home, Cap,” the doctor chimes in, voice small as he waves the cheque, “Mr. Stark gave us a very generous donation.”

 

“You're kicking him out? What happened to caution?”

 

“No, Mr. Stark. He's just a healthy man and it's a hip fracture.”

 

“Shut up, Tony. Take me home,” Steve mumbles to the empty space on the side of the bed Tony isn't inhabiting.

 

“I'll call Jarvis and have him bring you down to the car.”

 

“I can _walk_.”

 

“Actually,” Tony places a hand on his chest to stop him from moving just yet, “hospital procedure is quite explicit that patients must leave in a wheelchair.”

 

“You're doing this on purpose,” he growls and Tony gives him another consoling pat on the hand.

 

“Of course I'm not, darling, I'm just worried about you is all.”

 

“Hurry up.”

 

Tony flits to the hallway and wakes Jarivs from where he's slumped in a chair, “pull the car around, would you?”

 

“They're letting him out?”

 

“He's a young man and it's only a hip fracture for God sakes.”

 

When he returns to Steve's room he's already up and limping about looking for clothes. He barely manages to keep from shoving him back into bed because he's _injured_ , surely he shouldn't be walking on it so soon. So he settles with gathering things for him and he should really be concerned with how this plays against his image of being a billionaire playboy who can't get enough of women and over priced booze however Steve is _limping_ and looks so in pain and he can't help but feel he should do something although he hasn't any idea what that should be. No one has written a handbook on this at all and Steve isn't the type of woman who Tony usually has on his arm that can be easily placated by telling her how beautiful she looks tonight. He isn't a woman at all and he doesn't drink or smoke or have any vices that Tony can indulge to keep him from going off and flying jets around to errant states he wants to re-join America. It's ridiculous. Almost as ridiculous as Steve breaking his hip of all things.

 

He actively attempts to keep Steve from yanking out all of his Ivs but he's a man possessed and dragging three stands on wheels does nothing for him. So he pulls them all out of his arm while the doctor watches like it's no big deal and Tony wants to ask what kind of hospital they're running here if they just let people tear out their own Ivs and bow to bribes.

 

“Let's go, Stark,” Steve rumbles once he's located a pair of pants that he deems acceptable and has pulled them on.

 

Tony finds a wheelchair eventually-he's drunk but not drunk enough to need one himself however Anthony still has to help him locate it-wheels it back and gestures to it with a flourish, “your throne.”

 

“I'm walking.”

 

“No you aren't.”

 

“Yes I am, Stark,” he storms, albeit slightly less steadily as he normally would, towards the elevator and Tony follows with the wheelchair just as unsteadily.

 

“At least sit in it while I bring you to the car.”

 

The elevator door closes.

 

“I'm not an invalid, Tony! I can walk so save it.”

 

He shrugs like he doesn't mind that his best attempts at keeping him at least somewhat healthy are being rebuffed, puts his hands in his pockets and remembers for the second time he'd forgotten his flask in his other jacket, “well excuse me for caring, Steve.”

 

“I never asked you not to care, I asked you to stop treating me like I can't do anything for myself!”

 

“Fine.”

 

“You're being ridiculous.”

 

“Alright.”

 

They don't use the wheelchair though Steve's limp gets worse by the time they reach the car and the only person who talks the entire way back to Tony's building is Jarvis and even he shuts up by the time they're home. Even when they're in the parking garage Steve refuses help so that Tony is forced to hover with feigned nonchalance just behind him in case he falls over or something equally dramatic. He doesn't but people have told Tony there's no such thing as being too cautious.

 

He follows Steve until the bedroom where the door is closed on him before he can sneak in and that's just rude. Anyway he has some work to do on the suit so it's fine. He'll just wait until Steve has stopped pouting to talk to him.

 

~~**~~

 

The next morning leads to another fight, naturally. God forbid a man try to bring his lover breakfast in bed from his favourite restaurant-some dive that had made Tony's appetite disappear just looking at it. But Steve had let him stay despite how he'd frowed about it.

 

He's sprawled face down on the bed that's big enough to hold four people and has in the past while Steve drinks his coffee and reads the newspaper, hand spread across Tony's shoulder blades, “I'm back on the field tomorrow.”

 

“No you aren't.”

 

“Yes I am.”

 

“Let Carol do all the work, darling, you deserve a vacation. All you've been doing since you got back is running around like a mad man, one thing after the other. I hardly see you or your cock. I have needs, Steve.”

 

Steve grunts in what Tony assumes is agreement, “you're not exactly easy to keep track of either.”

 

“What are you talking about, I'm the easiest of all of us to keep track of. I don't run off to the desert or wherever it is Thor gets to,” he murmurs, the weight of Steve's hand isn't enough to keep him from moving if he wanted to but it's a comfort, sort of. It's ridiculous but he has nightmares that Steve is gone again and so knowing he isn't even when Tony has his eyes closed is nice. He's only been back for a short time and half of that they've been running around the country like Tony had before everything with the Civil War happened. It's really a miracle that they're both here in Stark Tower at the exact same time.

 

“Thor's been through a lot, Tony, let him wander.”

 

“He was helpful around the workshop. Maybe you should take a page out of his book,” he shifts closer so he can drape his arm across Steve's chest, raise his head to look at him from under lowered lashes,“or mine and stay in bed.”

 

“I have work to do, Tony.”

 

“And I don't? You're hurt, you need your rest.”

 

“I'm not-”

 

He silences him with a kiss that he must see coming but does nothing to stop. They haven't even had time for much else but quick hand jobs in closets and now Steve has a broken hip of all things. Tony pulls away just enough that he can speak, watches how Steve's eyes lose focus when he slides his hand down from that well-muscled chest to his groin though his hand hovers without touching, “just stay in bed for another day. To make sure. I'll make it worth your while...”

 

“I'll be healed by then, I'm not-”

 

Steve is less responsive to his kissing this time-at least at first but he relaxes into it after a moment, breathes out a sigh through his nose. The newspaper is all but forgotten now and Tony hears it fall off the side of the bed as Steve runs a hand down his back, “come on.”

 

“Is that admitting defeat I hear?”

 

“It's knowing when I've got a decent deal.”

 

“Oh,” he says like it's a revelation, “well then I suppose I shouldn't renege on it.”

 

“No.”

 

“Do you think you could handle me on top or is that too much for you?” he asks even though he knows the answer will be a firm “no” and he probably shouldn't be offering anyway. Steve is injured. Tony is probably more horny than Steve is injured though and so he doesn't feel too bad about moving to straddle his thighs.

 

“I can handle anything, Stark,” Steve's hands go to his hips, grip too tight but it makes Tony harden anyway to think of all that power underneath him at his mercy. More or less. Steve can hold him down and fuck him within an inch of his life later, though and Tony will let him.

 

“Oh, I don't know about that...” he pushes the horrendous shirt Steve has dressed himself in up until it bunches at his armpits then drags his hand back down again. Steve takes a slow breath-Tony can hardly tease him for how worked up he is about this, even though they've been sleeping in the same bed the past few times Steve has been in the same city as Tony it hadn't led to anything most of the time. A peck on the lips or frenzied tearing off of clothing and then Tony falling asleep against Steve's chest during breathing breaks. It's pathetic, really.

 

“Can handle you.”

 

He pulls down the sweatpants Steve has also chosen to clad himself in-honestly, give him free reign and he dresses like a slob-until his cock is free, “of course you can. Big, strong man like you.”

 

“Don't patronize me.”

 

“Who's patronizing?” Tony licks his lips, traces a line down the middle of Steve's dick with one of his fingers before wrapping his entire hand around it. Tony isn't a connoisseur of cock but Steve's feels good in his hand and he arches into it almost immediately no matter how he tries to overcompensate for it by staying dead silent so he thinks it must be near to perfection. Everything else of him is after all.

 

“Hurry up.”

 

“You can't rush genius, Steve,” he murmurs before letting go and leaning over him to root around under the mattress for his lube. The bedside table is too obvious of a place to keep it and besides that it's less cluttered under the mattress now that he's an adult and has no need to hide his porn under it. He divests himself of his pants next, wriggles out of his own shirt before throwing them both to the ground.

 

He squeezes some of the slick liquid onto his fingers, pushes himself to his knees before pressing the tip of one of his fingers against his hole. Steve can't see, he probably never would ask to either, but he's watching Tony as intently as he stares at a map before an OP, like he's memorizing every detail for later so that has to count for something. It's better than the badly hidden look of terror he'd had on his face the first time Tony had even suggested blowjobs and he'll work on that later-because Steve still gets that look sometimes as if somehow everyone around him will know he's had another man's cock in his mouth-but for now he just pushes his finger in with a groan. Watches as Steve face flushes and his hands return to Tony's hips and squeeze too tightly again.

 

“Look at you, all embarrassed,” he bites off a moan-it's not that good yet but the sound makes Steve's eyes darken further in the low light of his bedroom.

 

“Not embarrassed.”

 

He doesn't waste much more time in pushing another finger in because he doesn't think he _can_ wait much longer, “of course not.”

 

Tony makes another obscene noise as he stretches himself on his fingers and he doubts that he'll be able to adequately prepare himself in the rather short time frame he's giving himself to do so but it hardly matters. He's used to pain, after all.

 

When he's ready, or rather when he's tired of not being ready, he squirts more lube onto his hand and strokes Steve back to full hardness until his hips will have bruises with how tightly they're being held now. Until Steve can't help but make noise in spite of his silly self imposed rule.

 

“If you're feeling too sore to continue you can always stop,” Tony smirks as Steve glowers at him.

 

“No.”

 

He barely pushes himself halfway down onto Steve's cock before Steve is thrusting up and he'd wanted fast so he doesn't do much else but let out a surprised yelp. “Good God, I hate to say it, darling but be careful.”

 

“Hm,” his eyes are squeezed shut, breaths coming quicker than normal, and his hands are shaking from the effort of staying still.

 

“You're supposed to be resting. Let me do all the work.”

 

“Move.”

 

“Only because you asked so nicely,” Tony presses his palms against Steve's stomach because there aren't many other places he can put them for now and it makes Steve's skin twitch under his hands. And then he's sliding himself down until he's flush against his hips. He's had Steve in his mouth before, of course, but this is different, this feels fuller and he groans loudly once, then again because he feels Steve's breath hitch at the sound.

 

“Don't hurt yourself.”

 

“Oh now you say that.”

 

“Tony.”

 

He lets out a breathy laugh before rolling his hips, “joking, only joking.”

 

It's easy to tell when Steve is close. He tenses like someone's just told him a Nazi joke and he pants so hard that Tony thinks that he must make himself dizzy but he's still all there enough to thrust into Tony a few times before coming with a barely audible noise. It's not long until Tony follows, naturally, he knows how to get himself off well enough and Steve is lying there like a limp dishrag so is therefore no help. He can't blame him-he _is_ injured after all and Tony himself barely has the presence of mind to flop to the side instead of on top of him once he's made a mess of Steve's stomach.

 

“Well,” the words come out in a quickly released breath. It's not he best sex he's ever had but Steve is new to men and practice does make perfect.

 

“Left marks on you.”

 

“Hardly surprising, you were grabbing at me like I was the door in Titanic.”

 

Steve grunts, “okay?”

 

“Such a gentleman.”

 

“Don't want to hurt you, Tony.”

 

“I know, Steve,” he worms his way over to his chest again because now that he's not moving he's cold and Steve is so lovely and warm. Is always warm. “Now sleep, I'm sure everyone will want you to comment on your injury tomorrow.”

 

“I'll be fine.”

 

“Then pretend while I suck the warmth from you.”

 

Steve reaches for the blankets Tony had pushed off of him along with his pants and pulls them up over them both, “go to sleep, Tony.”

 

“Who said anything about sleeping?” he murmurs, eyes closed against the light of the room.

 

But he wakes a few hours later to Steve's voice on the phone in the bathroom. The bed is still warm, though which means he'd only left it mere moments ago. Tony doesn't move-no one has ever said he's honourable and eavesdropping on his lover's telephone conversations is hardly the worst thing he could do-and listens.

 

“Doctor's orders, Carol. I'm grounded until the day after tomorrow.”

 

Tony smiles and goes back to sleep.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Help me I'm out of control I can't stop writing Ultimates. @_@ 
> 
> I wanted Steve's injury to be something ridiculous because I originally wrote a very SRS BSNS version and then realized it was  
> gearing up to be another long fic and well...I have two already I need time to do other things LOL.
> 
> Anyway, thanks for reading! :>


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